


To Figure You Out

by watchthequeenconquer



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Conflict Resolution, Developing Relationship, F/M, Face Punching, First (and last) Kiss, Insults, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Platonic Sex, Polyamory Negotiations, Sexual Frustration, Switch Geralt, Top Yennefer, Vagina Grabbing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22416877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchthequeenconquer/pseuds/watchthequeenconquer
Summary: After weeks on the road, Yen and Jaskier are at each other's throats. When Geralt locks his two lovers in a room with the directive to sort it, masturbating over shared sex stories wasn't necessarily what he had in mind.
Relationships: Brief Yennefer/Jaskier, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 12
Kudos: 343





	To Figure You Out

**Author's Note:**

> I saw an artist's impression that was Yen being all like "this is my boyfriend Geralt...and this is Geralt's boyfriend, Jaskier." and I was immediately inspired by the tempestuous fucked up dynamic these three hot messes would have.
> 
> For the sake of this story, the partnership is G/Y and G/J with Y and J tenuously accepting the other partner (not so much out of jealousy, but big personalities butting up against each other). 
> 
> Didn't tag but there is some minor violence and non consensual grabbing of the opposite sex. 
> 
> I don’t own. Title from Nickleback. Hope you enjoy!

Geralt exhales loudly through his nose when the unmistakable sounds of his two travel companions quarrelling breaks the silence of the otherwise peaceful town.

“Give it back, you barren harpy!”

“You’re lucky I don’t shred your jugular where you stand, you dirty street performer.”

Roach whinnies irritably, shifting uncomfortably but safely out of reach in his tethered spot.

“You and me both, girl.” Geralt soothes, rubbing her face comfortingly and laughing a little under his breath when she pushes him away with her snout, “What am I going to do about those two?”

A derisive snort says all he needs to hear, striding in the direction of the cacophony.

He hastens his pace when he hears the shrill twang of lute strings snapping.

“Enough!” Geralt shouts as he rounds the corner swiftly, hit with the heady scent of gooseberries and wild flowers as he approaches.

Both figures freeze at the command and under less pressing circumstances he might’ve taken a moment to enjoy the view.

Ever the tormenter, Yennefer’s chaotic lavender eyes are still bright with ill-intentioned mirth, thin lips suppressing a smile, the echoes of her smoky laughter fleeing the courtyard in search of an alibi. She bites her lip suggestively, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

Jaskier’s lute is levitating precariously above their heads, just out of physical reach.

The bard is flushed with exertion, eyeing the Witcher imploringly. His cerulean gaze is sharp with indignation, lips parted as he breathes hard, cheeks alluringly flushed.

“Here to save your dickless little plaything from the big, bad sorceress?” Yennefer teases, strumming the chords with a bored flick of her wrist.

“If you’re referencing my manhood, if we had the distinct displeasure of fucking, you couldn’t tell the difference,” Jaskier seethes pettily before Geralt can interject, “All the magic in Aretuza couldn’t rejuvenate that cavernous hole.”

“Are you going to let this crude street urchin talk to me like that?” Yennefer sniffs disinterestedly, examining her well-kept nails. Another string snaps as the faintest sparks of a spell begin flickering irately from her spare hand.

“Are you going to let your witch of a mistress destroy my most prized possession?” Jaskier huffs.

Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose hard as the two continue to bicker, Jaskier becoming more vulgar with his insults as Yennefer’s magic swirls impatiently around them, turning the sky dark with her building rage.

Two weeks off and on main roads in between jobs was hard enough alone without having two contentious lovers to deal with. Between Geralt working tirelessly and their less than ideal lodgings, neither had received the attentions they required, emotional or otherwise.

The promise of an evening in an actual bed had only served to further sour relations between the exhausted trio, deepening their shared discomfort as the proximity to their destination closed.

Mounted behind him on Roach during the last leg, the bittersweet scent of Yen’s weeping sex had ground into the saddle, perfumed with sweat as her thighs chaffed against her rustling skirts.

Geralt felt strangely lightheaded as Yen stretched up over his back like a cat to purr into his ear.

“You know that toy you like so much?”

“Hmm?” He grunted, gripping the reins harder to stabilise himself in the saddle. He was a mutant, not immune to need though he’d like to wish it otherwise.

“I’m going to wear it and spread you out and take you apart with it from the inside.”

She pressed shamelessly close to Geralt’s broad back, gloating silently as her nipples rubbed against the leather through the thin material.

Fuck.

“Then things went south when you punched me in the mouth, blood and split only added to the slick.” Jaskier sang, projecting clearly and succeeding in catching Geralt’s ear, painting a clear picture of one of their earlier trysts in his tired, wandering mind.

Roach neighed appreciatively as he harmonised while tuning his lute.

“You said “don’t be a tease” as you forced me to my knees, choking on the fluids and pleas just to please you...”

Shifting in the saddle himself as his cock jerked appreciatively, Geralt had caught the bard re-adjusting himself uncomfortably as he walked, cursing the unevenness of the path, strumming unhappily and attempting to use the lute as a cover for his own exposed instrument.

Upon reaching their destination, Geralt had wanted nothing more than to stable and feed Roach, eat a decent meal and fall into bed to satisfy the needs of both his partners before getting some much needed rest.  
It was obvious the fragile truce between the bard and the sorceress wasn’t going to hold out that long.

“Give it back, Yen.” He said firmly.

If he’d been in any danger of underestimating her unbridled power, the murderous glower on her darkening features was reminder enough.

“Go fuck yourself!”

“Jaskier, apologise!”

“I’d rather never sing again!”

“That can be arranged!”

Summoning the last of his considerable strength to focus, Geralt signs with his hands. Employing the element of surprise is enough to cause Yennefer to stumble as the forceful gust of wind hits her.

The loss of focus temporarily deactivates her spell, causing the lute to drop into Geralt’s waiting hand.

He grabs Jaskier by the wrist before using another sign to drag Yen into his iron grip, dragging the protesting parties inside to their shared lodgings.

Initially he had thought the single room available was another sign of misfortune but it may turn out to be a master stroke on fate’s behalf as well.

“Fix it.” Geralt grunts as releases them both onto the bed.

“If I must.” Yennefer rolls her eyes petulantly, slumping on the bed, hands flexing.

“Those were unicorn hair so unless your magic tricks extend to summoning legendary creatures from thin air, it’s beyond repair.” Jaskier despairs dramatically, planting his hands on his hips as Yennefer scoffs at his peacocking.

“Not the lute.” Geralt interjects, slamming his hands against the door frame in a rare physical display of irritation. Yennefer remains unmoved while Jaskier winces, fingers twitching in sympathy for his poor lute which has accidentally bumped into the wall with the outburst.

“This.” He gestures between the room’s two occupants.

“You can’t be serious?” The sorceress intones monotonously without the decency to even look affronted.

“Unbelievable!” The bard’s scandalised expression is emphatic enough for both of them.

“Deadly,” Geralt confirms as he straightens with a tired smile on his face, “The tension, the arguing, the bullshit. It ends here. I’d suggest a fight to the death but I’m taking Jaskier’s best weapon with me.”

Avoiding Yennefer’s triumphant smile and Jaskier’s indignant pout, he ducks his head and adds seriously, “Do what you need to do but sort it between you or I guess it will be me and my hand tonight.”

He slams the door without further ado.

“He can’t lock us in here, it’s inhumane!” Jaskier strides over to the door and tests the lock, aiming a weak kick at the wooden frame.

“He’s aware I could just teleport out of here anyway.” Yennefer says, with a sigh, wandering over to look out the bolted shut window.

“So what’s the point?” Jaskier asks as he turns, dumbly.

“Trust.” Yen replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “If all your thoughts are this uninspired, it’s no wonder your songs are such a commercial flop.”

“Excuse you, I’m a classically trained orator,” Jaskier shoots back, not even bothering to dignify the shot at his music with a response, “Like I’d concern myself with the cultural tastes of someone who grew up in the slums of Vengerberg.”

He wishes desperately that his erection wasn’t so prominent. Despite his complete disgust at the woman in front of him, there was something about being spoken down to that had always got his blood up.

“Seems money can buy you success but not wit or class.” Yennefer hisses, ripping off her soiled riding gloves and throwing them at the man standing across the bed from her.

In the dry heat of summer, the room is unbearably warm. She can feel the sweat dripping down the valley of her breasts. The confrontation has done nothing to stem the flow of wetness between her legs. She needs an outlet for her frustrations before she reduces Geralt’s human side piece to a pile of ashes.

“Shame all that effort was wasted on a full body transformation but they couldn’t fix your heinous personality!” Jaskier sniped, kicking off his boots. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to, but if he was going to be stuck here, he might as well be comfortable, “How you were every abided in any court for so long I’ll never understand.”

“Says the man whose creative range to extends to self-fellating ballads and poorly concealed attempts to attract anyone pathetic enough to throw him a pity fuck.” Yennefer shouted, letting her chaos get the better of her.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier demands as she removes her heavy riding jacket, transferring all of her rings onto one hand.  
“Enough talking. Let’s finish this.” The sorceress gestures, setting her shoulders and widening her stance aggressively for engagement.

“You crazy bitch, you think I’m actually stupid enough to fight you...wait!” Jaskier snorts, eyes widening comically as Yennefer launches herself bodily across the space between them to strike him.

She strikes him hard across the face with the ringed hand before he can mount a defence, squealing in surprise as pain blooms behind his eyes.

Breathing hard through his bloodied nose, Jaskier grabs her wrists, managing to wrestles her back onto the bed. She struggles desperately in his hold, weeks without proper sustenance limiting the draw of her seidr.

Seeing her fingers sparking dangerously and desperate not to succumb to another assault, Jaskier’s hand works before his brain does in self-defence.

Jaskier knows his world is all but over when he finds himself grabbing Yennefer firmly by the cunt.

The room holds it breath.

“Oh fuck.” He groans, thighs tensing as he looks down nervously at the place where his hand had disappeared from view.

Her skirts had flown up in the altercation as he forced her onto her knees. He can feel her thin lacy material of her underwear between his motionless fingers, frozen as though under her enchanting influence.

Shit, shit, shit.

“So he does have some balls after all.” Yennefer says, breathing hard but remaining still underneath his hand.

When he meets her face, her lavender eyes are bright with interest, the most she’s shown since their altercation began.

He twists gently, experimentally, feeling her jump in his grip, trapped under his hand like a spider in a jar, subdued by circumstance but still entirely dangerous.

Jaskier’s lips part in surprise when he doesn’t feel sharpened teeth trying to sever one of his appendages or an empty, cold wasteland, but a disturbingly familiar warmth that seems to coat his finger as he slowly unclenches his hand.

“Your move.” Yennefer challenges, forcing his eyes back to her face.

Though crushing her from the waist down does sound like an appealing idea, Jaskier’s lust driven frontal lobe has other ideas.

In a move that stuns both of them, Jaskier uses his free hand to grab her roughly by the neck, dragging their thighs together and attacking his mouth with hers.

The kiss is a battle for supremacy, two opposing forces locked in a contest for dominance. When Jaskier forces his tongue into her mouth, Yennefer retaliates with a sharp bite, following to latch onto his plump lower lip when he retreats, groaning in pain.

The shared taste of cooper on their tongues only serves to further stir their bloodlust. Musing at his full, bloodied lips, the determined set of his too pretty face as he dives back in. His mouth is rose bud soft, obscenely thick in comparison to her own. Yennefer can see why Geralt might find him attractive if you titled your head and the light was just right.

It’s messy and brutal, strangely arousing but entirely passionless, driven by need alone.

Finally he pushes her backwards as she tears away, taking a chunk of his skin with him.

Both dismount the bed in tandem, bracing themselves against the opposite side as the room catches its collective breath. Jaskier’s legs are too wide, accommodating the heavy discomfort between them as Yennefer brings hers close together, chasing any friction possible.

“You’re wet.” He says, dumbfound, because he definitely has a death wish, “Gushingly so,”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Yennefer laughs, placing one hand on her belly as the other skirts down to boldly palm herself, the swell of her dark skirts shifting around her tan fingers.

He can still feel the slick on his fingers and hurriedly wipes his hand on his trousers, nose wrinkling distastefully.

The motion draws her briefly eyes southward and she smirks.

“Does it hurt?”

“I’ve been travelling with Geralt for years now,” Jaskier’s reply is distorted as he tips his head back, pinching his nose to stem the blood flow, running his tongue distractedly over the congealed substance on his lip, “I’ve been privy to my fair share of blood,”

“I meant your other bloody head,” Yennefer says, gesturing downward to Jaskier’s still straining cock.

“Oh this?” Jaskier gestures sarcastically. He grabs himself with a hard squeeze, moaning openly and barely preventing himself from fucking into his own hand, “Not getting to come for weeks on end really gets me going. The punching and biting are basically an aphrodisiac to me.”

His tone is bittersweet with just a hint of truth and Yennefer nods, kneeling on the edge of the bed, a peace offering on the boundary of their battle field.

“I imagine Geralt satisfies all your kinks with his general disregard for the needs of others.”

The charged air in the room shifts to something heavier, syrupy thick with intention as Yennefer pushes her hand slowly under her skirt, teasing herself with the torturous drag of fabric and skin.

“A high tolerance for orgasm denial is certainly a requirement,” Jaskier replies, dropping to his knees in the opposite side, “Along with a desire to be occasionally ignored, spoken down to or disregarded. Helps my work, rejection is a tool of the trade in my profession.”

He closes his eyes. The gentle rustle of her skirts emboldens him, untying the lacing at the top of his pants with shaking fingers as she slips her fingers inside her underwear.

“The taciturn schtick in public only makes it hotter, doesn’t it?” Yennefer picks up the thread, voice deliciously low and conspirator as Jaskier whines at the first awkward twist of his wrist, not even bothering to push his pants the entire way down.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Jaskier says, opening his eyes as she giggles, enjoying the conversation almost as much as her fingers frantically skimming over the silken folds of her lips.

“I’ll never forget when he walked into that room with you, completely unaffected by my magic, demanding my service like a lord subjugating a vassal...” Yennefer gasps, faltering as a slick of wetness spills from inside her in recollection.

“Something about the way he walks drives me absolutely spare.” Jaskier agrees, swallowing dryly as he continues to fuck up into his first, “Swaggering around in all that leather, blissfully unaware that men and women alike are swooning over him. Made me want to drop to my knees and lick his boots the first time I saw him.”

“It’s the competence.” Yennefer correct, biting back a moan, lavender eyes misting over, “So physically capable, so in command of any situation. As someone who thrives on chaos, it’s infuriating, seeing all those simpering plebs just bowing to his will...”

“If only they knew how much of the Witcher myth was just that...oh, god that’s it...” Jaskier grunts, feeling pre-come shoot from the tip and not slowing his pace, stripping his cock desperately.

The air is thick with the scent of sex, stiflingly heat broken with fingers manipulating slick skin, gasps and grunts as they chase their individual pleasure.  
“Makes it so much more satisfying when he finally gives over to it...” Jaskier says, slowing the pump of his wrist to twist at the head mercilessly.

“What was it like...when he came to you?” Yennefer asks. She glances momentarily into his eyes, and the genuine earnestness there leaves him breathless. Her free hand braces against the bed top as her fingers batter her clit fiercely.

“Early on, he would creep into my bed roll in the dead of night,” Jaskier shares candidly, giving himself a sharp squeeze at the base so he doesn’t lose it the memory, “He didn’t speak as his mouth covered mine, always with his eyes shut, rutting against me like it pained him. Repression and restraint radiated off him.  
It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was but it felt so clandestine.”

“Mmmm...” Yennefer hummed appreciatively, slipping a finger inside herself with barely any resistance, the images flicking in her mind’s eye like a beckoning flame.

“As you’d imagine, you couldn’t get a word out of him in the morning,” Jaskier says with a fond sigh, beginning to move again in long, slow strokes, “It was like he was afraid of his own desires, of being rejected or laughed at or labelled a freak and cast aside...”

“What did you do?” Yennefer asks, voice shockingly soft as she begins to feel her belly blossom with familiar sparks on pleasure.

“I rode him so hard one night under the stars that he couldn’t remember Roach’s name let alone his own feelings of inadequacy,” Jaskier laughed, rhythm beginning to falter, “His cock was so big that I couldn’t walk for a week... and sitting in the saddle only made the gaping more pronounced - the sweetest torture imaginable....”

He trails off when Yennefer screams out, cunt clenching wildly around her soaking fingers as her orgasm overcomes her. Her dark hair veils her face as her torso concertinas, fucking herself through the aftershocks.

“And I thought Geralt had stamina.” Jaskier whistles lowly, almost halting his own ministrations in his surprise.

“Please,” Yennefer snorts, flicking her hair back over her shoulders as she removes her fingers, moving them back up to work over her swollen folds, “who exactly do you think does the actual work out of the two of us?”

“Go on.” Jaskier demands, intrigue adding colour to his features, slack with bliss.

“Of course, it was all very traditional at first,” Yennefer muses, propping one foot up on the bed to improve her angle, “As you know, his preconceptions about his own masculinity were...fragile...”

“Don’t I,” Jaskier agrees, thumbing the head of his cock impatiently, “How did you break through that conservative exterior of his?”

“One day he appeared unannounced as usual, but more tense. Clearly needing to be taken care of but unwilling to ask for it, stubborn bastard,” Yennefer recalls with a too sentimental laugh, “I got a few drinks into him and he was stimulated mental but couldn’t physically...you know...”

She made a crude gesture with her free hand as Jaskier supplied helpfully “get it up?”

“So, after I’d cuffed him to the headboard and thoroughly attended to his entrance, I slipped in a cheeky finger to see if everything was in working order.” Yennefer cackles viciously as Jaskier gasps in astonishment.

“You didn’t!”

“Under the guise of a medical examination of course...you couldn’t imagine the things that townsfolk have asked me to assist with...”

“And how did he take that?”

“Poorly initially, but he accepted the necessity...he was recovering from a recent job that went wrong and wondered if magic was the cause.” Yennefer continued, stroking herself lightly as Jaskier began to increase his rhythm, sweaty and tense.

“And?”

“I added my tongue...and a couple more fingers...”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jaskier chanted, hips thrusting.

“Longwinded story short, with the addition of some oil and thorough attendance from my mouth, I ended up fucking him with a strap on.” Yennefer confesses, purple eyes glimmering wickedly, luminous in the late afternoon light

“Holy shit, you didn’t...” Jaskier gasps, desperately close, “Oh...fuck...how...did he...?”

“Take it?” Yennefer supplies, increasing the pressure on the head of her clit, feeling the warmth begin to build again at the base of her spine, “Like a wild stallion being bridled. Captivating in their resistance, struggling to reconcile their own spirit with the dominance of the act. But when he finally broke, he fell apart so beautifully...cursing and swearing and frowning...basically biting through his own lip at the sensation...”

“What was the best part?” Jaskier practically begs, words little more than a mumbles slur.

“The noises he made,” Yennefer moans, unable to hold back as the memory presents itself vividly, “The delicious build from the suppressed little grunts of discomfort as I stretched him open to hearing him screaming…Geralt…screaming at the top of his lungs as he painted his own chest, hit himself in the chin with the thick ropes of cum as I milked his prostate...”  
Jaskier climaxes with a shout, thighs clenching with the sheer force, hand a frenzied blur in his haste. Yennefer follows a second later, back bowing beautiful and crying out with her breasts pointed towards the ceiling in the throes of her passion.

Both collapse onto the bed in exhaustion, sprawling beside each other as the sheer relief of release after weeks of tension flow through them.

“Let’s never do this again.” Jaskier breaks the silence finally, staring up at the ceiling, breathing hard and moping the sweat from his brow as he pointedly doesn’t make eye contact.

“You don’t have to tell me twice, bard,” Yennefer sighs, adjusting her skirts.

“So now we basically been intimate, whip up a spell and clean me up?” Jaskier asks hopefully, grimacing as he removes his hand from his soiled pants.

“Not on your measly mortal life.” Yennefer hums, fingers already conjuring the means to make herself presentable again, “Go wash up before Geralt...”

The door opens with an unceremonious creak as both shoot up from the bed to opposite sides of the room.

Geralt arches an eyebrow, taking in the rather intriguing sight of his two lovers, smoothing their clothes and dishevelled hair to no avail.

“Would you believe it Geralt, we were so exhausted from the trip, that we ended up passing out the entire time you were away!” Jaskier attempts pathetically. Yennefer glances at him sidelong with a sigh of pity. 

“Easy, Jas,” Geralt intones, leaning against the doorframe, posture relaxed, “Even if I couldn’t hear you from a mile off as the crow flies, the smell would’ve been a dead giveaway.”

“Idiot.” Yennefer groans as Jaskier sniffs at his arm pits. 

“Though I inferred you should…how do the humans say it… “kiss and make up”, you know I didn’t mean literally have sex, right?”

The dual, stunned expressions of embarrassment and disgust Geralt receives in response makes the silent treatment he’s sure he’s going to suffer before he gets the real story entirely worthwhile.

He can’t wait to tell Roach.


End file.
